


The Way You Are

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone at CSI is pairing off ... except Catherine and Jim. What are two single adults to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Are

“Hey, looking pretty snazzy, Jim,” Catherine said as the LVPD captain walked into her office at the end of shift. “A little too dressy for work, though.”

“Hey, I’m not like you CSIs,” Brass joked, straightening his tie. “I know how to keep my work clothes looking nice.”

Catherine laughed. “Except for having to wash out the occasional blood smear.”

She stood and came around to the front of her desk, taking a long look at Brass as she did so. He always looked good, at least in her opinion, but today he was dressed to the nines in a real “date night on the Strip” ensemble.

Brass’s normal “uniform” of dress pants and a collared shirt looked as casual as jeans and a pocket tee next to the outfit he was currently sporting-- a new pair of inky black dress trousers, smartly creased; a deep blue dress shirt with a pair of silver cufflinks; a tie with thin black and blue stripes shot through with even thinner threads of silver; and smartly shined dress shoes. His badge was attached conspicuously to his belt. He looked, Catherine thought, incredibly handsome.

“That’s not a ‘heading to court’ outfit,” Catherine remarked, circling him to better admire from all angles. “Too nice for that. Where you headed?”

Jim gave her a flirtatious smile. “Heading to Marsala for dinner.”

“Oh yeah?” Marsala was one of her favorite restaurants—food to die for, a wine list that would make Robert Mondavi jealous, and desserts of death. Wickedly expensive, of course, and very upscale, it was a special occasion sort of restaurant. “Is Ellie in town?”

“No. Haven’t heard from her since I got out of the hospital. Some daughter, huh?” He looked in the mirror next to her door and brushed at his collar. “No, I—uh-- I’ve got a date.”

He said it casually but the simple statement detonated like a bomb in Catherine’s stomach. “Oh,” she said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “That’s … great.”

“Yeah, she’s a total knock-out,” Brass said, smoothing his hair. “Smart as hell, funny, and a body that won’t quit. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“I, um …” What the hell was she supposed to say to that? Catherine swallowed hard. “I’m glad. That’s really … that’s great.”

She was flat out lying. Jim going out with another woman (irrationally) made her chest hurt and her stomach go into free fall. It wasn’t great, not at all!

But, she admitted to herself, there was no reason in the world why it _shouldn’t_ be great if he was going out with someone. Jim was her colleague and her friend. They’d worked together nearly every day for the last seven years. He was as much a part of her daily life as her car, her clothes, her debit card, the things you got used to having around every day and ended up taking for granted. Sure, they’d been spending more time together recently—a LOT more—but there was nothing to that but camaraderie and shared interests … at least that’s what she’d been telling herself.

But the possibility of Jim spending time with … dating … fucking … someone else made her realize just how much she actually wanted to be that person who was going out to Marsala with Jim after work.

Where that feeling had come from, she had no idea, although she was pretty sure that it had started recently when it felt like all of their friends were pairing off—Sara and Grissom, Warrick and Tina, Hodges and Wendy. Greg was dating a stage manager for the Cirque do Soleil. Even Nick, their Lone Ranger, had been casually dating a paralegal for the last few weeks. She and Jim had been the two hold-outs, often joking loudly around their colleagues that their previous marriages had turned them off to dating, that they’d rather stay at home with a good book than face the horror of the dating scene.

But it HAD been disappointing to her, seeing her friends pair off so easily, observing from behind her office windows who took a few extra minutes to sneak a phone call or a text while they were waiting for evidence to process. Seeing the wedding band glint on Warrick’s finger was probably the biggest disappointment of all, a reminder of what she—they—could have had if she hadn’t been so worried about taking the next step forward. She’d taken some solace in the fact that Jim, dependable, steady, warm, funny Jim, was in the exact same boat. He understood why she sometimes lingered in the break room after the others had left for the night and their easy banter was echoing down the hallways—it was in those moments when she felt the weight of loneliness that he’d squeeze her hand, or make a joke, or offer to buy her a drink.

Now Jim, it seemed, was heading in the direction of being off the market, too. 

She smiled hollowly at him, hoping he couldn’t see her disappointment. “Have a good time,” she said in a voice that was too loud and overly cheerful. She began gathering her purse and her laptop.

“You have any plans?” Jim asked. “You and Lindsay doing anything special?”

“She’s spending the weekend with Jillian and her family. They’re driving up to Arches National Park. So it’s just me and season one of ‘The Tudors.’”

“Sounds like a good way to start a weekend to me.” Jim ushered her out the door and waited while she locked her office. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it.” She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep a smile on her face. “I’m just going to check in with Grissom before I go.”

“I-Am-The-Bug-Man all ready left,” Brass said. “Sara wasn’t feeling well—he went home to be with her.”

Sara and Grissom’s newly revealed romance was the last thing Catherine wanted to hear about, especially since it seemed to be bringing out heretofore unseen levels of tenderness in Gil. Watching her best friend’s seemingly unemotional façade give way under the constant, steady pressure of Sara’s affection might be endearing on other days, but right now it just made her want to weep with self pity.

“He’s been pretty protective of her over the last few weeks,” Jim noted. “And she’s let him. I can’t say I ever expected that.”

Catherine nodded, averting her eyes from his face. “When you come close to losing someone you love, it rocks your entire universe sideways. You start making sure you tell them more and more often how much you care.”

She was talking about more than Grissom and Sara with that statement and she figured that he knew it—after all, hadn’t she and Jim started spending a lot more time together in the wake of his shooting?--  but she was suddenly too tired and heartsick to guard her words or her heart any more closely. “You go on ahead. Enjoy your date.  I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Catherine, wait …” Brass called behind her. She pulled out her phone, pretended to answer it, and held a one-sided imaginary conversation all the way out to the parking lot so she wouldn’t have to speak to anyone.

***

Catherine headed for the ice cream as soon as she came home. She didn’t normally consider herself to be the type of women who used the “pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a romantic comedy” trick to cheer herself up, but tonight it felt like exactly what the doctor ordered.

She pulled on a pair of relaxed fit black yoga pants and a low cut teal tank top, put her hair up in a loose bun, and took off her jewelry. She grabbed a bottle of her favorite Bath and Bodyworks amber scented lotion, her collection of nail polish, and the tools for giving herself a mani-pedi and headed into the living room where she popped season one of “The Tudors” into the DVD player. She was intrigued by the time period of the series, by the men, women, and players who enacted some of the most salacious scandals in all of history. It served as a reminder that human folly was the same all across time—kings, queens, mistresses, clergy, and commoners had the same problems in the 16th century as they did in the 21st.

She was fifteen minutes into the episode and just preparing to apply a french-manicure to her nails when the doorbell rang. Not even bothering to pause the DVD, she crossed to the door.

Jim Brass was standing on the other side, a bouquet of orange and yellow roses in his arms.

“H-hi,” Catherine stammered. “Didn’t you … have a date?”

“I still do,” he said. “At least I hope so.”

“So… why are you here, then?”

“Because I can’t go on a date if my date isn’t with me.” Brass grinned at her expression. “You must be more tired than I thought. Here.” He extended the flowers to her.

“Jim …” Catherine stared at him, totally baffled. “What the hell?”

“I thought I was being clever when we spoke earlier but I was either too clever or not clever enough since I don’t think I got my message across.” He leaned against the door jamb. “I said I was going on a date with a total knock-out who’s smart as hell and funny with a body that won’t quit.” He reached out and brushed his fingers across her cheek. “Who the hell did you think I was talking about?”

Catherine felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. “Me? You were planning on taking ME to Marsala?”

Brass winked. “Like I didn’t know it was your favorite restaurant.”

Catherine stared at him. “Jim … I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, you could start by saying that you don’t have any other plans.” He peered over her shoulder toward the living room where the clash of a jousting match was issuing from the DVD player. “But it sounds like you have a party going in there all ready.”

 “That’s Henry VIII at a jousting match,” she said absently. “I … really thought you were going out with someone else.”

“Is it a good thing that I’m not?” he asked, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “I can just go pick up someone on the Strip, no problem, if you don’t want to go with me.”

The remark jerked a laugh out of Catherine. “I’d love to go with you! I just have to get changed.” Remembering that she hadn’t invited him in yet, she stepped back from the door. “Come on in.”

She set the roses on the counter then began to gather the nail polish and mani-pedi tools, trying self-consciously to hide the half empty ice cream carton behind her back.

While Brass examined the DVD package, she put the ice cream away, got out a vase, and set the roses in water, adding a healthy dose of vodka to keep the flowers healthier longer. She moved to set the roses on the middle of the dining room table. She froze when Brass’s hands came to rest on her mostly-bare shoulders.

“You know what, Cath?” he asked, low and quiet. “I think I’d almost rather stay here.”

“Oh yeah?” she breathed. “Why?”

“Because I know that you dazzle in a gorgeous dress. I know you knock ‘em dead even when you’re wearing your work clothes. But I think you’re even more appealing when you’re relaxing.” He squeezed her shoulders with strong fingers that made her want to melt. “Why don’t we save Marsala for another night? One when we haven’t been working all day. You deserve hours to get ready, not just a few minutes.”

“Are you saying I need hours to make myself look this good?” she asked teasingly, turning her head to peer at him out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” he responded, his breath warm on the back of her neck. “You deserve hours to get ready for the best night of your life.” He slid his hands down her arms and back up again. “See, we’re going to have a very busy evening. We’re going to have a romantic dinner, with all the best foods and wine. We’re going to dance—a lot because I like nothing better than dancing with a beautiful woman, especially when she moves like you do. We’re going to come back here to have dessert and some more wine. And then ... if you want the same thing I want… we’re going to have each other.” His lips brushed over the back of her neck. “How does that sound?”

Catherine turned in his arms. “Sounds like you’ve had this planned for awhile.”

“Ever since the day I met you.”

“Seven years,” she whispered. “That’s a long time to wait.”

“I always heard that good things are worth the wait.” He lifted a hand to her hair, brushed a loose strand away from her face.

“You’re going to have to be the judge of that.” She slid a hand behind his neck, gently pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

Their lips came together gently, a soft brush, and then more urgently, more demanding. He slid a hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head, pulling her closer. She did the same, instinctively, and pressed closer to him, also instinctively. His lips were warm and he tasted like spearmint.

“What’s the verdict?” she asked when they separated.

“Verdict?” He looked a little dazed and Catherine grinned. She hadn’t lost her touch.

“Worth the wait?”

He grinned. “That might take another few experiments. What do you think?”

She reached up, slid her fingers under the lapels of his jacket, and pushed, sending it tumbling toward the floor.

“I think you’re overdressed.”

“Like I said, smart as hell,” Brass answered, letting the jacket slide to the floor before taking her in his arms again.

END.

  


End file.
